How Distant
by Goatcharmer
Summary: Draco can't take it anymore. Malfoy Manor holds too many memories, and so few of them good. His parents are not pleased to hear he's decided to leave. Could be considered a sequel to "Nightmare" but stands alone fine.
1. Chapter 1: Suffocated

**Author's Note:** This is a sequel of sorts to my fic _Nightmare_ but it can be read on its own. There will probably be more of this series of ficlets and shortfics, which may morph into a larger piece someday. The title of this fic comes from a poem by Phillip Larkin named "How Distant". In particular the line, "How distant the departure of young men."

Draco arrived in the breakfast room at exactly 8, as he did every morning, and sat down in the chair he always sat in, between his mother and father, who sat at either end of the small, sturdy table, its golden yellow wood shiny in the sunlight that was pouring through the wide eastern window.

"Good morning, Draco," Narcissa said pleasantly.

"Morning," Draco mumbled, not meeting her eyes. He did not want to have a conversation about last night, when she had woken him up screaming from a nightmare, and was afraid she was going to draw him into one. He especially did not want to have that conversation in front of his father.

"That's no way to speak to your mother," Lucius said, from behind a copy of The Daily Prophet. Draco could see Potter shaking the Minister's hand and smiling at the camera from the front page o the newspaper. He glanced away from it quickly, a sick feeling settling in his stomach.

"Sorry, Mum," he said.

"It's quite all right, darling," she said, looking at him with sympathetic eyes, but to his relief, made no attempt to speak of the previous night's events.

"What do you want to read that newspaper for, anyway? It's just a bunch of articles about how Potter and his friends are so great," he said, looking back down the table at his father.

Lucius tilted the newspaper down, and looked at him with raised eyebrows. "An awareness of current events is an admirable quality in any wizard, particularly one of your breeding," he said, reprovingly. "Potter and his friends are the most newsworthy subjects at the present time." He didn't wait for Draco to reply, merely returning to look at his paper.

The admonishment stung, but not as much as it once might have. He suspected his father had lost a bit of his touch.

"Please eat, darling," Narcissa said, and Draco looked at the meal set out on the table. He did not feel particularly hungry, but he served himself some eggs, toast, and black pudding anyway, and poured a cup of tea by hand from the tall narrow teapot. The pot had a blue-and-white china design of a winding road with a young man walking down it into the distance, holding his wand in his right hand. Draco had always thought the man looked carefree and off to seek a great adventure, but now he thought he seemed to be fleeing from something, and indeed, the man would occasionally glance over his shoulder to see if he was being followed, and then pick up the pace. Though, of course, he never arrived at his destination.

Draco cut his sausage into small, bite-sized pieces, with all the care he would use for delicate Potions ingredients, purposefully taking his time with the task.

"What are your plans for today?" Lucius asked abruptly, folding his paper and setting it down beside him. Narcissa sent him a sharp look, but he didn't notice it, or chose to ignore it.

Draco didn't answer immediately, still cutting off the last piece of his sausage. Finally, he looked up and said, "I'm going to move out." He had not realized it was what he was going to say until he said it, and he immediately wished he could take it back with one look at his parents' dismayed faces.

Narcissa laughed the brittle, tinkling laugh that was the only laugh she ever used these days, though Draco distantly recalled that she had once had a beautiful, infectious laugh that invited you to laugh along with her. Draco did not laugh. "Of course, you are joking," she said.

"Not at all," Draco said, determined, now that it had been said, to not back down.

Lucius's face was stormy when Draco dared to look at him. "Where would you go?" he asked. "Perhaps to some _flat_," he asked, saying the word as if it were a curse word, "like some common Mudblood."

Draco shrugged one shoulder, not wanting to admit he hadn't thought this through very thoroughly.

His father's lip curled into a sneer. "This is your legacy and your heritage, Draco. This is where you belong. I absolutely forbid it."

Draco felt the immediate instinct to shrink back in on himself and say cheerily that it had been a small joke after all, but he doubted that would go over very well either. "I'm of legal age," he said instead, quietly, non-confrontationally.

Lucius scowled darkly. "I think you will find it hard to find a flat to go to with no monetary support. You've grown used to living within my coffers, but I will not support this ridiculous venture."

"Draco, think this through," his mother broke in, imploringly. He dared to look at her, and he thought he saw a glimmer of wet in her eyes. He looked away hastily. "We are your family. You must stick with your family, or you have nothing. Family is everything."

"I know that," Draco said, irritated. "How can you think I don't know that? After everything?" He said the last in an attempt to hurt them, for they never spoke of the events of the war even obliquely, preferring to act as if everything was perfectly normal, as if they had not been prisoners in this very house for over a year, as if they had not been terrified to walk the hallways of their own ancestral home. He felt a pang of guilt as the comment hit home. Narcissa looked as if she had been stung, and a shadow passed over Lucius's face, before it grew red with anger.

"I thought you _did_ know that, Draco," Lucius said, his voice harsh. "Perhaps I was mistaken. Leave my sight at once."

"Happily," Draco snapped, feeling an anger of his own cloud his mind, and he stood up and walked rapidly out of the room. Behind him, he could hear his father's voice saying, "No, Narcissa, do not follow him. He is not a child any longer, and if he insists on acting like one, I will not cater to it."

Draco's face was hot with fury, and he felt sick to his stomach, as he stomped back up to the East Wing and into the room that still did not feel like his, in a house that no longer felt like his. His parents could pretend that everything was fine all they wanted, even going so far as to sleep in their old bed, that had once housed the Dark Lord when he had declared himself the master of the Manor, but he knew they still felt the heavy weight of memories that weighed him down, fear, and disgust at himself, waiting in every corner of what had once been the place he felt most safe. He sat at the narrow desk by the window, and considered what he should do next.

It was clear to him that he could no longer live in this house. His father was enraged and apathetic at turns, and his mother clung to him, throwing herself into every part of his life, as if afraid that if he was out of her sight for but a moment, he would be killed or captured. He busied himself in his old Potions laboratory, which was still stocked with some of Snape's supplies, and never spoke to anyone except for his parents. He hadn't left the Manor since the trial, four months ago, and none of his school "chums" had any interest in speaking to him. Goyle was in Azkaban, serving a 20 year sentence, even if he had wanted anything to do with Draco, Pansy had flown the country and was somewhere in France, last time he heard, and Zabini was still steadfastly refusing to reply to his OWLs or receive his Floo Calls. That left nobody, really, unless you counted Theo Nott, who he hardly did. They had never been friends in school, though he didn't think they had exactly disliked each other. Nott was probably the smartest of the Slytherins in their year. Draco was willing to admit that he was smarter than himself, even. He had managed to avoid getting the Dark Mark, despite his Death Eater father. On the other hand, Draco thought bitterly, it was not really the same situation. Mr Nott has never been a prominent Death Eater like Lucius Malfoy was, and he had never fallen so spectacularly in the Dark Lord's graces. Nott had never been given a suicide task that he was intended to fail, Nott had never had to eat breakfast in the morning with the likes of Fenrir Greyback breathing down his neck, and sneak to his bedroom at night, trying desperately to avoid his own supposed allies. Nott didn't even have to deal with over-protective parents, because Mr Nott had taken very little interest in his son's life when he was alive, and now he was dead, leaving Nott Master of Nott Manor, and took even less interest in it.

Master of Nott Manor. Nott was Master of Nott Manor, Draco thought, the wheels in his head beginning to turn. He was fairly certain that Nott lived alone there, with only an elderly House-Elf for company, and rarely ventured outside. It was possible he was lonely. And it was such a _large_ house. Surely there was enough room for another person to live in it. It was unorthodox, true, but he had never thought Nott was the sort of bloke who stood steadfastly by tradition.

His mind made up, he retrieved some parchment, thick and silky smooth, with the Malfoy seal on its header, and a self-inking quill from his desk, and began to write. He had already thrown out at least five versions before he came up with one he deemed acceptable.

_Dear Theodore Nott,_

_I hope that this winter is treating you well, and that my owl finds you content, and warm inside on this chilly morning. It is quite brisk outside, despite the sun shining through the grey clouds. I would hate to think that you were in any way discomforted._

_I, myself, have come upon a very small hitch in my plans. Though I am personally in perfectly good spirits, as are my parents, and we all have a great deal of hope for what the future brings, I am finding that the time has perhaps come for me to take other lodgings. This is not to imply that there is anything wrong with the Manor, which is as beautiful and grand as ever, but merely that I seek a different point from which to view the world, and my many options._

_I do not ask to impede on your hospitality lightly, but I would consider it a great favor if you were to find some small space within your home for me to stay for awhile, for old times' sake._

_I await your reply with great pleasure._

_Sincerely yours,_  
_Draco L. Malfoy_

Draco wrinkled his nose at the tone of the letter, which included more brown-nosing than he would have preferred, but he couldn't think of any one else who might take him in, and besides, the last year of the war had made him more than accustomed to brown-nosing whenever required. It was distasteful, but sometimes, it was a matter of life or death.

He opened the window next to his desk, and leaned out of it, whistling sharply for Aureolus, his owl. The large Eagle Owl arrived with reasonable speed, swooping out of the sky, and landing with grace, and a click of his talons, on the windowsill. He looked at Draco out of one imperious eye as he waited patiently for his orders.

Draco folded the letter with precise care, and slid it gently into an envelope, which he closed, and turned over. He sealed it with his wand, pressing the tip firmly against the paper. Green smoke cleared to display an intricate letter M, overlaid on the Malfoy crest in dark purple wax. He wrote Nott's name on the front of the envelope, and held it out for Aureolus, who sniffed it once and gave Draco a look as if he disapproved, but grasped it tightly in his talons. With a shake of his feathers, he launched himself out the window and into the sky. Draco watched him disappear behind some tall trees, before he turned away from the window.

His mission complete, Draco summoned a book on Potions theory from his bookshelf, but found he could not concentrate on it. He was so anxious for Nott's reply that his stomach felt as if it were floating and his mouth was uncomfortably dry. He kept licking his lips, and glancing at the window.

Fortunately, he did not have to wait all that long, and after an hour or two of trying to read his text, his eyes scanning over the same passages again and again, he glanced out the window for another time, and, in the distance, he saw a dark shape moving towards him quickly, forming into the familiar shape of his owl. Aureolus dropped a folded note onto his desk, and folded his wings behind his back to sit patiently beside his master. Draco reached to open the note with shaking fingers.

_Malfoy,_

_You're pathetic. Fortunately, I've always had a soft spot for lost causes. When can you arrive?_

_T.N._


	2. Chapter 2: The Departure of Young Men

Draco's father, still furious that Draco had decided to move out of the manor, had forbidden their House Elf, Libby, to assist in anyway, so Draco was forced to pack himself. He was sitting on the bed that was soon to no longer be his, and sending his robes into his luggage bag with a flick and swish of his wand (owl-ordered from a wand-maker in France shortly after the end of the war). Plain black work robes folded themselves up next to everyday robes in black with dark grey accents for winter, and his summer robes in very dark grey with silver accents. There were two pairs of dark velvet dress robes already sitting at the bottom of the bag. His large winter cloak rolled itself up and landed on top of the rest of the clothes. Then, with another quick snap of his wrist, the bag closed itself. It was the seventh bag he had packed, and it lay on his floor next to the rest. Another had the rest of his robes, including more everyday robes and a pair of Quidditch robes; one bag had his shoes and boots; one had underclothes and his dressing robe, as well as toiletries; one bag was packed with as much of his Potions supplies as he could take with him, shrunk down to a manageable size; a tall narrow bag had his broomstick and Quidditch gear; and yet another bag was full of shrunken books and stationary supplies. Satisfied that that was everything he needed, he said, "iDiminiendo!/i" with force and sliced his wand through the air, across all seven of the bags, and they started shrinking rapidly until they were each no larger than a Snitch. He threw all of them haphazardly into a large carrier, knowing that the charms on each bag would protect any valuables. He swung the carrier onto his shoulders, and slid his wand into his pocket, next to a small clinking bag of had already said goodbye as well as he thought possible - Narcissa alternated between crying and pleading with him to think things through, for Merlin's sake, and his father refused to speak of the matter at all, growing angry at his wife and son if it was brought up, as if by refusing to acknowledge Draco was leaving, he would just decide to stay home after took a deep breath, set his jaw, and closed his eyes tightly in concentration, thinking hard of the path up to Nott Manor. The familiar, but no more enjoyable than ever, sensation of Apparition filled his body, and darkness took over. A moment later he was standing on a wide cobblestone path, panting slightly.

He took a look around at his surroundings. It was early evening, the shadows just beginning to lengthen, and the day was overcast. On either side of the path, there were expanses of grass, littered with the occasional tree. Ahead of him was the tall stone wall that surrounded the Notts' property, dark moss growing down it, and tall bare trees poking up above the edge. A black wrought iron gate stood at the end of the path, its designs twisting and shifting in such a way that it hurt Draco's eyes to look at them, and he had a strong feeling that he would much rather look somewhere else. He chose the wall next to the gate and stood there, wondering if Nott knew he was got his answer a moment later, when the gate swung open smoothly and silently to reveal a thin boy with fine, mousey brown hair and a weak chin. He was dressed in plain black robes, nothing fancy but immaculately clean and pressed. "Hello, Malfoy," he said, his thin lips twisted into one of his trademark wry smiles, where you could never quite tell if you were meant to be in on the joke. "Welcome to Nott Manor.""Thank you for allowing me your hospitality. I cannot thank you enough," Draco said, cautious not to forget his manners. He had learned some important lessons about manners during the war. When somebody else had power over you, it was best to stay on their good side, and that meant being polite."My pleasure," Nott replied, and this time Draco got the distinct impression he was being mocked. It was not a pleasant feeling, but he let it pass as if he had not noticed. He didn't want to get into a fight with his host before even seeing the inside of where he was going to be staying for the indefinite future. "Care for the grand tour?" Nott asked, and turned his back without waiting for a reply, walking swiftly towards the large stone building ahead of hurried to keep up with the slightly taller boy, barely getting a chance to look at his surroundings, though he had, of course, been here before. The last time was when he was thirteen, and Mr Nott had invited the Malfoys over for dinner. That was back before everything had really started. From what little he could tell, the place seemed to have changed not at all. The large clear pond was still full of ducks and two long-necked white swans, and he could still see the hedge maze out beyond did not pause at the front doors, merely continued walking as they swung open for their master. Draco made to walk after him, and came up shortly against what felt like a solid wall. He grunted, and took a quick step back, slapping a hand to his nose, which throbbed unpleasantly."Oh, sorry about that," Nott said, not sounding particularly sorry. "I've got to allow you into the wards." He closed his eyes in apparent concentration for a moment, and then nodded his head, looking satisfied. "All right, try now. You're allowed in and out at will. You still won't be able to bring anybody else over without my letting them in the wards, though, and if you attempt to harm the Master of the house - that's me, by the way - the magic will probably react... unpleasantly. But I'm sure we won't have to worry about that." He smiled at Draco, his hazel eyes glinting with a somewhat dark humor."Of course not," Draco said stiffly. "I understand the rules of hospitality as well as anyone.""Better than some, I'd say," Nott said knowingly, and Draco could guess what "guests" he was referring frowned. He had forgotten what unpleasant company Nott could be sometimes. He tended to act as if he thought he knew everything, and didn't much care whether you agreed. No wonder he had never had any real friends in school. Still, he would have to attempt to make nice if this was going to work. "I would hope so," he said instead, and stepped across the threshold into the entry hall. It was a relatively small room with a hardwood floor and a high ceiling, from which an antique-looking chandelier hung, weighted down by hundreds of brightly flickering candles. There were also brass sconces lighting the hall, and a large doorframe opening up to a long hall, with more sconces along each inclined his head, and renewed his hurried pace down the hallway, not stopping at any of the shut doors until the hall widened significantly and they stood in front of a wide staircase, the underside of its dark banisters carved into what looked like all sorts of animals and gargoyle faces peering out from among thick vines. He might have been imagining it, but Draco thought he saw a couple of the gargoyles' eyes glint at him with malice. He looked away quickly, and followed Nott up the dark blue runner secured to the center of the they reached a landing and Nott took a sharp left, leading Draco through a door and into what seemed to be a large drawing room. It was carpeted in dark blue, and the walls were dark glossy wood intercut with strips of grey wallpaper. There was a huge fireplace at one end of the room, made out of dark, rough-hewn stones, with a thick oak mantelpiece. The center of the room was taken up by a long table, and there were chairs and sofas of various sorts throughout the room. "You can use this Floo," Nott told him, "and it is where I entertain guests." He grinned, as if amused by the concept of actually entertaining guests. "It's also where I eat my meals. My suite is down the hall through that door on the right. There should never be a need for you to go in there. I'll show you the library, and your suite next."The library proved to be quite large, possibly even larger than the one at Malfoy Manor, though he thought it probably had less obscure books on the Dark Arts and similar subjects. He was mostly interested in the extensive section on Potions books. "Feel free to read anything you want in here," Nott told him. "Just don't harm the books, or I'll be annoyed."Draco's suite was not as nice as the one he had had at home, and he thought it could hardly be defined as a suite. It was a small room with a desk in one corner and a comfortable-looking, but narrow, bed in the center of it, with an attached bathroom. Still, it was better than what he'd had at Hogwarts, so he could hardly complain."This is pretty much all you need to know," Nott said, when they were standing in Draco's new room. "Thoughts?" he asked, and Draco thought he detected a hint of anxiety in the other boy's voice for the first time, as if he was genuinely hoping that Draco would like it."It's a nice house," Draco said politely, giving Nott as sincere of a smile as he could. Which was not as terribly hard as it might have been, since it really iwas/i quite a nice place. "Thank you."Nott shrugged, the earnestness replaced with a coolly indifferent expression. "Well, it is what it is. Beggars can't be choosers, eh, Malfoy?""I would not use the term 'beggar'," Draco said tightly, suddenly more than ready to be left alone. "If you don't mind, I would like to do some unpacking, and perhaps read a book."A smirk flickered across Nott's face, but then he nodded agreeably. "I was in the middle of some reading myself," he admitted. "Dinner's at 7:30 sharp and mind you're not late. Turvy - that's my House-Elf - won't stand for it. Bossy old thing, she is." He gave Draco another sharp look and left the room, shutting the door behind him with a firm sneered at the door when Nott had gone. Imagine letting your House-Elf boss you around. If Libby had tried that, his father would have had her burn her ears in the oven. But it wasn't surprising that Nott was weak-willed enough to let his House-Elf tell him what to do. He had always been like that, really. He could've had a much higher standing in Slytherin during Hogwarts if he had chosen to use the fact that he was from a wealthy and well-respected Pureblood family, like Draco had. He was clever enough to pull it off, too. Instead, Nott had chosen to stick to his books and studies, rarely bothering to interact with his Housemates at all. He had stayed out of the war, too, as best as he could. If anything, he could be considered a coward. Draco might regret how things had happened, but he hadn't hidden in the sidelines. He had been right in the center of the action, and he had came out of it alive. That was something Nott would inever/i understand. Draco was a survivor, and nobody could take that from him. Let them try. 


	3. Chapter 3

Living at Nott Manor was not all that exciting, Draco found, though it was better now that Nott had let him set up a small Potions laboratory in the basement. He spent most of his days there, making Dreamless Sleep Potions, and a few others for practice, so he didn't lose his touch. He hadn't been sure where he was going to get the money for the ingredients, but a few days after he moved in, his mother had helped him open an account at Gringotts, and transferred a sizable sum to it, from her family's vault. She was the last person alive who had access to the vault, and even his father was not aware of the exact contents. Which was just as well, as Draco suspected his father would not be especially pleased to know that Narcissa was giving him money. She was also owling him every day, and he replied dutifully, as a good son should, despite the fact that he thought she was worrying much more than was necessary.

Potions ingredients really were the only thing he needed the money for, because Nott did not once ask for any contribution, and as long as Draco was there at the appointed meal times, he was able to eat the food Turvy made, which was very filling, if not quite up to the standard that meals at Malfoy Manor set. These meal times were, in fact, usually the only times of day that Draco saw Nott, which he found odd since they were the only ones living in the house and Nott never had guests over. Perhaps Nott really did like to be alone all the time.

Then, one morning when he was walking to the drawing room for lunchtime (noon sharp, and no excuses), he heard voices, and a feminine laugh. He wasn't sure what to expect when he entered the room, but it was not what he saw.

Nott was sitting on one of the plush ivory sofas sitting against the wall, and Daphne Greengrass was sitting next to him, smiling warmly at him. Nott's head was bent towards her, and he had a foolish grin on his face. Neither of them noticed Draco enter the room.

Feeling more than a little uncomfortable, Draco cleared his throat. They both looked up. Nott gave Draco a smirk, with more than a hint of smugness, and Daphne had an odd look on her face, as if she couldn't decide whether to smile or frown. She settled for raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips together. "Hello, Draco," she said. "It's been awhile."

"Yes," Draco agreed. It had only been seven or eight months, but it felt like ages to him too. The last time he had seen Daphne, she had been evacuating Hogwarts during the Final Battle, looking pale and shaken, and not meeting anyone's eyes. Her flaxen locks had hung limp around her shoulders. Today, they were pinned up in a becoming arrangement of curls piled onto her head, and her grass green eyes were looking directly up at Draco's face. "How have you been?"

"I've been fine. And yourself?" she asked in a stilted voice.

"Quite well. I'm sure Nott has told you I'm living with him now."

"No, actually," she said, and shot Nott a dirty look.

He gave both of them an indifferent shrug, and leaned back against the sofa cushions. "You found out eventually. I figured you would."

"Theo likes to keep us on our toes," Daphne said, still looking displeased.

"I don't want either of you to get soft," Nott told her, a half smirk playing on his lips as he watched her lazily through slightly hooded eyes. "Are you going to stay for luncheon? Turvy should be here any moment."

She hesitated, glancing at Draco, who did his best to stand perfectly still and keep his expression stoic. "I might as well," she said at last. "I'm already here, after all."

"Quite so," Nott agreed.

Lunch turned out to be a little awkward, as Nott and Daphne spent most of their time chatting to each other about inconsequential things like the weather and Quidditch, and ignoring Draco. Draco happened to know that Nott was not even a Quidditch fan, so he was inclined to take this as a personal slight. By the time he was done with his food, he was in a very bad mood. He dropped his silverware on his plate with a clang, and pushed his chair in roughly, before walking quickly out of the room, letting his footsteps fall heavy on the floor. It didn't make him feel any better, though.

He headed immediately for his Potions lab, and began to brew a batch of Wit-Sharpening Potion. He hoped it would use of the last of his extra Armadillo Bile. Fortunately, it was a relatively easy potion, because Draco found himself having a hard time concentrating on it, his mind clouded with irritation. Perhaps he would need the potion for himself. He was not sure what he had done to make Daphne dislike him so. He had always been perfectly nice to her at Hogwarts, and she had been good friends with Pansy when the two of them were dating. He hadn't spent much time talking to her during his Seventh Year, but he had had plenty of other things on his mind at the time, and had hardly had time to chat with some silly girl.

He had thought that he would be safe here from the accusing stares of people who knew nothing about what he had gone through, but then stupid Nott had to bring stupid Daphne Greengrass, and she had to look at him as if he were some sort of small rodent, and she wasn't sure how it had snuck inside, and was trying to think of the best way to dispose of it.

She had always been a bit of a snob, Draco reflected. Especially during Seventh Year, when she had kept almost entirely to herself. In retrospect, it had been a bit strange the way she turned into a loner almost overnight, when she had been quite popular before. He didn't recall her hanging out with Nott, even. Just when had the pair of them gotten so close? It almost seemed as if they were courting, though he doubted a pretty girl like Daphne would ever go for a weedy looking fellow like Nott, who on his best days, just looked like a more handsome rat than usual, and who had no friends and no life.

Except that he did seem to have at least one friend, which, it seemed, was more than Draco had. This thought made his stomach clench with shame and anger. It was ridiculous that Nott should be more popular than him. Draco had always been the leader in school, the one everybody wanted to be around and listen to all the time. Though, now that he thought of it, Nott had never seemed especially inclined to do what Draco told him to.

Some time later, Draco's dark thoughts were interrupted by a low rumble in his stomach, and he came to the realization that quite some time had passed. He pulled Grandfather Abraxas' old pocketwatch from his robes, and realized with dismay, that he had missed dinner by an hour and a half. Which meant that he would have nothing to eat until breakfast the next day. His stomach growled again, in protest at this thought. Maybe he could find Nott, and talk him into an exception. The rule about only being able to eat at mealtimes was ridiculous, anyway.

He ended up finding Nott in the library, his head bent over a thick tome. Fortunately, Daphne seemed to have left. Nott looked up when Draco walked in, so he was clearly not as wrapped up in his reading as he appeared to be on the surface. "What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked, a bit snappishly.

"I missed dinner."

"Yes, I noticed," Nott replied coolly, raising his eyebrows as if encouraging him to get to the point already.

Draco scowled. He hated having to ask for favors, and suspected Nott of doing this on purpose, perhaps to punish him for some imagined slight. "Look, can I have something to eat or not?"

"Turvy was quite displeased about your absence," Nott said. "She will be hard to convince."

"You're her master," Draco snapped. "Can't you just tell her to give me some food?"

"Why should I? It's not my fault you missed dinner, and besides, I am disinclined to do you a kindness after the way you treated Daphne."

"I was perfectly polite to Daphne. If anything, she was the one acting like a bitch."

Nott's eyes narrowed into slits. "I've made a great many allowances for you, Malfoy, but I will not allow you to insult my friends."

Draco took an involuntary step back. "Well," he said, disgruntled, "since when are you such good friends with her anyway? You never had any friends in Hogwarts."

"That's because you were all irritating little shits with nothing of interest to say, and we had nothing in common. Daphne and I got to know each other in our last year. We bonded over our mutual distaste for the rest of our housemates." He paused, then added, "That would be you, by the way."

"Right, and you're so charming," Draco said. "You're a regular Gilderoy Lockhart. I bet women are crawling all over you, right?" He sneered as he said this. "I'm surprised Daphne even wants to be seen with a mangy little rodent like you."

The insult did not seem to hit home, as Nott just gave him a mocking smile. "Has anybody ever told you not to throw stones in glass houses, Malfoy? Even if you weren't pasty and pointy-faced, your personality is enough to keep _any_ woman away from you. Or are you really so dim you haven't noticed that nobody likes you?"

Draco hissed furiously. "Plenty of people like me."

"Oh yes, I suppose your mother likes you," Nott agreed amiably. "She did betray the Dark Lord for you, if popular gossip is anything to go with. Still, nobody who isn't related to you wants anything to do with you. Zabini said you wouldn't stop pestering him with owls, and it took you forever to get the hint when he didn't reply."

Draco clenched his jaw and balled his hands into tight fists. "Well, you let me stay here," he said, between his teeth. It was all he could do not to take out his wand and hex Nott until he couldn't walk, but he knew that if he did, it would be one of his worst ideas since the war had ended.

Nott laughed, then. "Yes, I do. Your self-delusion is amusing, and I feel sorry for you." He paused, and then looked at Draco with cool eyes. "And for some reason, I think you have a chance to be something more than this some day, and I pride myself on being an excellent judge of character. So, since I am generous enough to let you stay in my home, I would greatly appreciate it if you would treat my friends with respect. Daphne has excellent reasons to want nothing to do with you. In any case, she's much more pleasant than most of our housemates. She'll give you a chance if you let her. Just try not to be, you know, yourself, and perhaps she'll come around. Deal?"

Draco didn't trust himself to speak without cursing Nott out, so he forced himself to nod, painful as it was, and turned on his heel and strode out of the room. It wasn't until later that he realized he had never managed to get any food, but he was definitely not going to go back and ask again. He wanted nothing to do with that stuck-up prick. He had always suspected Nott thought he was better than him, and now he had the proof. If only he had somewhere else he could go, he would leave here faster than you could say, "Apparate!"


End file.
